


Pain

by dayindisguise



Series: Unstable!Eames [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, reference to self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayindisguise/pseuds/dayindisguise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames knew that kind of guilt, he knew how it ate at Arthur, and he knew it would never really be gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Unstable!Eames verse, wherein Eames has manic depression. I am not a psychologist or manic depressive, so I can't know how it feels to live with this mental illness. I do not mean any offense by my writing.

The last time Arthur had been close enough to see the scars lining Eames’ inner thighs had been the last time Arthur had gone down on Eames. It was years ago, and Eames knew that the scars had faded since then, but the overwhelming guilt and nausea that had swept Arthur up still existed. Eames could still remember feeling Arthur’s hands freezing on his thighs, formerly gripping the thick muscle of his thighs, stroking with his thumbs while his mouth was busy, and he’d watched Arthur’s eyes sink down. He’d watched his hands move, he’d felt the brush over the scars, standing out whiter than the rest of his skin, and Eames wasn’t sure if he felt the apology being whispered against the top of his thigh first, or if he’d heard it. The tears came next, he felt the droplets fall against his skin as they rolled down Arthur’s cheeks, down the length of his nose. Eames knew that kind of guilt, he knew how it ate at Arthur, and he knew it would never really be gone.

“You remember what the doctor said, Eamesie. He said there’s nothing physically wrong… he said it’s all in your head, remember? So we’re going to work on this together, and you’ll be better in no time.” Arthur had been trying to be helpful. He was at the end of his own rope with his boyfriend, he wasn’t sure what else there was for him to do.

Eames was in pain. Every morning when he woke up, there was an ache so deep in his bones, he didn’t want to move. He couldn’t move. He would self-medicate in hopes of sleeping it off. Arthur could only watch it for so long, he could only sit back and let his boyfriend waste away for so long before he was taking him to the doctor. Eames would be visiting a psychiatrist in a week’s time, but part of Arthur was hoping that the doctor’s words would wake Eames up a little.  
All it brought Eames was more pain, a different kind of pain. It made him feel crazy, abandoned, ashamed. No one forced his hand, though. No one made him make the pain real. He did it himself. He never blamed Arthur, not for siding with the doctor, for not believing him that he was in pain. Eames created a physical manifestation of that ache deep in his bones, and it was the only way for him to move along.

The day Arthur had found the healing cuts underneath bandages lining creamy inner thighs…That was a day Eames had done his best to forget. It lingered anyway. Their lips had been meshed together, Eames’s hand already down Arthur’s pants, stroking his length while it was restricted in tight jeans and boxers but he couldn’t focus long enough to get them off. Arthur was struggling to step out of them, his hips bucking into the rough hand on him, and he’d fallen forward into the warm, solid body of his boyfriend. He’d seen the wince while their kiss was broken, while Eames was still stroking him and holding onto his other hip to steady the slim man, the wince that Eames had tried to hide.

“Did I hurt you?” Arthur had spoken, his voice breathy and lower than normal. “‘Course not.” Eames had responded easily, his lips soon attaching to Arthur’s collar, plush lips bringing a dark mark to the tender skin. It wasn’t until the dark haired man was desperate for more of Eames’ skin that he knew something was wrong. Eames, even when he was insatiable like this, had always managed to get his own pants off before he was too preoccupied with Arthur’s cock in his hand, in his mouth. When Arthur’s nimble fingers pulled the button on Eames’ thigh, when they slid the zipper down, he felt Eames pause, tense, freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I… Nothing… nothing.”

“Eames.”

“Arthur?”

Eames knew he was found out, that Arthur would find the bandages, that he would know. The first set were on their way to healing, but two days prior, those ones were still fairly fresh. Arthur didn’t relent. He unzipped Eames’ fly and had the bigger man lift his hips. His boxers were bunched just enough on the fly for Arthur to see the corner of the bandage, the line of medical tape.

“What did you do?” Arthur’s voice was low, and his eyes flickered to Eames, horror, shock, surprise, nausea… The feelings rushed all at once, but one look from Eames brought the guilt into his throat like bile.

“I… I had to make it real. It was all in my head, and I needed it out of my head. I made it real.”

The colour drained from Arthur’s face faster than Eames had ever experienced. Arthur wasn’t sure whether to wrap his arms around Eames, to let the tears spill that welled in his eyes, or to scream, to be angry and to walk out. So he’d just sat there. He pulled his eyes away from the stark white bandages and looked up at Eames.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is… It is, Eames. I brought you to the doctor… I made you go. If you wouldn’t have gone…”

“It would have happened sooner or later.”

“I could have stopped it.”

The last time Arthur’s fingers had accidentally brushed over the long-healed scars, the last time he had gone down on him, Eames wished he could say that was the last time he’d seen the colour drain from Arthur’s face, and he’d seen the guilt overwhelm him as the apologies flowed over his thin lips.


End file.
